


Damsels In Distress

by Robotskilledmygrandma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and gore galore, F/M, I don't know how paralysis feels but I went a bit into detail about it, Panic Attacks, Rescue Mission, Set after Civil War but before Infinty War, Swearing, The violence isn't over the top, Zombies, lots of swearing, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 23:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robotskilledmygrandma/pseuds/Robotskilledmygrandma
Summary: Bucky and Steve don’t usually get captured, but their missions don’t usually involve zombies. Now he has to deal with the fact that the emergency alarm went out to not only the team, but to you, his girlfriend. This is not the way to a girl’s heart.





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small three-parter that I wrote for a writing challenge today, I've been sitting on it for months.
> 
> If you're a Stucky fan like me then you can just see it, if you squint, like really squint.
> 
> I set it after Civil War but there's not ugly space grape, aliens from Avengers are mentioned, and a few other things, but Infinity War has not happened. If you didn't already guess, it's kind of set in Wakanda. 
> 
> My characters are also a mash between the MCU and comic book, especially Clint who is mainly based on the comic book version.
> 
> This is my second fic. I've edited it myself, so there will be mistakes and things I probably got wrong. I hope you enjoy. I'll add as I go.

A lot of crazy shit has happened in the world, and no, Bucky doesn’t mean which idiot is president, what wall will be built where or the nuclear capabilities of the country’s enemies. He’s thinking more of the Nazis who got their hands on some weird space rock, super soldier serum and created some truly odd weapons and a walking red nightmare. Aliens showing up and invading Earth with an actual God, which Bucky could believe in the aliens, hell he’d been telling Steve for years that they weren’t alone, Gods took a little longer to accept. Then there was what happened to him, which he has come to terms with, shit, he’s still processing Steve no longer being a sick and scrawny ball of anger. And Jesus Christ, even a girl that can move shit with her mind is somewhat believable in the grand scheme of things.

But zombies, specifically zombie super-soldiers. Bucky draws the line with this shit.

They. Just. Won’t. Fucking. Die.

They are so fucking screwed.

This is worse than that time that Steve tried to shave his head with Bucky’s straight razor, or the time that Bucky decided that letting Shirley down by dancing with Dot at the local hall was easier than talking, or even worse that when Steve slugged Joey in the jaw and then promptly got his fat-head almost dusted because he was still a bloody twig.

Hell, this is worse than hearing that Steve STILL tries to blow things up with motorbikes, which really is a feat in itself, and that he jumped on a grenade back in basic, and that he jumps out of planes without a parachute on unless Bucky intervenes. Even worse than that day in DC they don’t talk about anymore, or that day in Leipzig they don’t talk about either.

Now they had to add getting themselves ambushed by zombie super-soldiers. 

“We’re screwed” Bucky mumbles to Steve.

Steve’s eyes are flicking around, watching as the soldiers, zombies, whatever the hell they are, surround them. Bucky knows that Steve’s gonna move, that he’s gonna try and take them and hit them with everything he’s got, not that they haven’t already. They’re riddled with GSWs and stab wounds from Bucky, and smatterings of bruises and broken bones from Steve, but it hasn’t stopped them. Instead, it’s just made the skin hang, blood clot and the bones shift beneath the skin with loud sick movements that make Bucky want to hurl. The only ones that have managed to stay down are without heads or have had their heads obliterated by the shield, Steve or Bucky’s fists or enough bullets to make them stick to magnet. It’s enough to make him heave a sigh for the ages. 

The M249 Saw is all but useless, so Bucky lowers it gently to the ground, it’s his favourite, besides he’s down to his last bullets and they won’t stay down. His hands snake to pull out the M9 Bayonet and the Gerber that he keeps at his sides and then presses his fingers discretely to the comms unit in his wrist. Steve’s eyes find his and there are no words, just a silent question of are you ready to do this? Bucky nods sharply before moving like lightening, slashing and stabbing his way through the horde while Steve attempts to punch his own group of zombies into next century. They won’t last long at this rate but they’re gonna take as many of these fuckers with them.

He’s right, like always, he thinks as he feels the pinprick and looks down to see a frighteningly large syringe sticking out of his stomach. It hurts and his legs go slack immediately, as well as his hands and he has to watch the two coveted knives drop carelessly to the ground, it makes him angry. Steve is next to him in an instant, anger radiating off him not unlike how the sun radiates heat, he can feel it in his pores. The shield is brought up in front of them to finally do what it was made to, shield them from fire and blows, but Steve’s face changes from anger to horror and both of their eyes trail to were another equally frightening syringe has made its way into Steve.

“Screwed Stevie.” Bucky repeats, his tongue starts to go slack and his head lolls.

Steve’s grasp is slipping and he’s falling, his shield clanging to the floor and sounding like an obnoxious pot lid in the middle of the night. Bucky wants to smile because the alarm went out and Steve is here. But. He frowns, remembering that you will be getting the alarm too. Shit.

***************

There’s a coffee cup in your hand that you definitely don’t remember grabbing and you’re standing in front of the “War room”, willing yourself to enter. Bucky named it that, deciding that the team couldn’t have a boring conference room as they space for planning “super-secret and sometimes morally-questionable superhero missions.” Now it has a map, a switchboard that Shuri installed after all of Bucky’s incessant whining – which really has no use other than looking like it came straight out of a movie set. He had even threatened everyone to call it the “War room” or they would feel the wrath of the Winter Soldier. Dramatic little shit.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. This was not how your day was supposed to go. You were supposed to meet up with Shuri at a reasonable time to discuss possible weapons, try on the suit she secretly made for you, and then wait for Bucky to return so you could have a much-needed conversation about how you were bored out of your mind. But no, instead you had been woken by the shrill alarm coming from EVERY single electronic in your place at 0247.

There was already bickering in the “War room”, you heard it long before you found yourself in front of the door, something you were still getting used to. Summoning your strength, you push the door open and walk into the room, and to say that it falls silent is an understatement, you could hear a pin drop if anyone did drop one. Obviously, none of them are aware that Bucky had added you to the “Avengers Assemble” alarm.

Shuri is standing on the other side of the table with an expression that reads I’m so done; Natasha is to her left looking relieved? Sam’s standing with his arms crossed to the right and Clint is lounging on one of the chairs in front of him, feet up, looking like he’s watching a goddamn movie.

Sam goes to talk first, going so far as to open his mouth only to close it just as fast when you hold up a finger to silence him, emitting a vibe that very clearly says I’m really not impressed. He’s taken aback but they all take note, and no one goes to speak. You run your hand through your hair, you should have tied that shit up. 

It’s all tense, with specs already on the table display and there’s a definite lack of two certifiable dumbasses. Clearly something has gone wrong.

“I’m going to kill Steve Rogers and his boyfriend” you say in a strained voice.

“Which one?” Natasha asks.

Sam squawks. Like a bird. You should have recorded that shit for future blackmail purposes. 

“Aw you know, yay big, huge flirt, has an affinity for knives, kinda murderous?” You wave your hand around above yourself to indicate Bucky’s height and they all let out small, if not nervous laughs.

Sam, however, is laughing just a touch louder. “Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“He can be Steve’s when he’s being an idiot.”

“He’s always an idiot…”

“Indeed, he is. But seriously, what happened?”

Silence again, which simply put means shit’s FUBAR and that no one knows what’s happening. You flop down onto the chair with a heavy sigh, chugging the rest of your coffee – not that it’s going to do anything, but you like to give yourself the illusion that it does.

Nat runs her hands over her face, pulling the skin taunt before speaking. “Bucky sent out the alarm. But we couldn’t start because he, somehow, installed a failsafe that meant it couldn’t be accessed until we were all present.”

And there it is. Her tone is… off, somehow, like she’s still trying to understand the situation. Because usually you’d have to wait for them to call you, whether it be that they were on their way back or that a certain someone had sustained an injury, but today Bucky had made sure that you’d been called. Maybe he was already starting to guess at your restlessness. 

“Shall we get started?” Shuri asks.

It cuts the tension and she pulls up the small videos that were taken at the time the alarm was activated. It’s a minute long, both of the cams on Steve and Bucky’s uniforms capturing the madness. They start and you grip the table, fingers making indents in the thick metal.

“What. The. Fuck.” Sam speaks first, a full thirty seconds after the videos end, vocalising the confusion they are all feeling.

“Zombies.” Clint says with conviction.

Sam shakes his head. “Nope.”

“What?”

“You hear me. Nope. Na da. Wanna hear it in Spanish? No.”

Nat let’s out an exasperated sigh and shoots the two men daggers. “This was supposed to be simple recon. Something went wrong, but they should have been able to handle this.” She admits.

They should have. Steve and Bucky together are like a tsunami, once ready to fight, you do not get in their way, it’s a sure-fire way to end up broken. But they also haven’t seen anything like this, and you had never said anything, secretly hoping that they would just disappear. Sure, they’ve dealt with aliens, mutants, super-soldiers. But zombie super-soldiers clearly had not crossed their minds.

You trace the indents that you had made a few times, knowing what you need to do and feeling the bile rise in your throat. You have no other option.

“I have.” You say.

Chaos erupts around you. Each of them talks over one another, asking the same questions as well as muttering about how they can’t believe that. You hadn’t said anything about zombies, not when they had come across your mangled body on another simple recon mission, not when you recovered and not when you started to fall for a certain super-soldier. And why would you? According to anything official, you were another victim of HYDRA’s experimentation, turned into a super-soldier against your will, or that’s what everyone had guessed. It was the only explanation for you surviving being severed almost in half. 

The destruction of the facility you had been found in along with the lack of any intel from their servers meant a dead end that, not even Shuri, could pick up and you had all decided it was over. Until a few weeks ago when there had been whisperings and some intel found in the most precarious places, which Bucky and Steve had insisted on checking out. 

And now you had to break it to them.

You pick a question at random, a seemingly easy on. Why do you know what they are?

“They’re a result of experiments gone wrong, the same one that made me.”

They all physically recoil, except Shuri of course but you knew that already, they go so far as flinching and you must hide the hurt. “You’re a zombie?” Clint sounds too far away.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips and they all look slightly scared, you didn’t mean that. “They’re the rule, I’m the exception, or accident, however you want to put it. Seriously, I don’t think they expected me to survive, and like, not become a mangled mess like the rest of them.”

“What’s the rule?” Shuri asks the question but she already knows the answer, she’s the only one who knows the whole truth, other than Bucky who you know took this mission because he wanted to be sure that they were gone, wanted you to have a shot at a normal life.

“Don’t play God?” you offer.

Nat is pale. You can see the gears shifting in her head, she’s thinking and thinking and working through the intel they already have, the mission gone south and your confession. You know she’s worked it out when it looks like a lightbulb has appeared above her and she gives you a look of shock and fear.

“They never stopped.” She says in almost a whisper. No one goes to interrupt her. “Project Rebirth. The Winter Soldier program. Weapon X. They never stopped trying to recreate Steve, and Bucky. But without the serum, they didn’t have anything stable to work with.”

Bingo. 

“Until now.” You say.

That tells them everything they need to know. Bucky and Steve weren’t dead, they were something much worse, captured. The only two living super-soldiers with the serum walked straight into the hornet’s nest armed with only fly swatters, unaware that it was all planned.

“Can they be killed?” Nat asks.

You shrug. “Decapitation seems to work alright?” You offer with a grim smile. “Or going to town on their heads.”

“Good enough for me.” Nat raises her head at Sam and Clint and they both think for a second before nodding in agreement. “Let’s go get our boys.”

Sam comes up next to you and places a hand on your shoulder, the earlier shock gone and he’s trying to be comforting. He knows how much Bucky means to you, and Steve, and all of them for that matter. “You got a suit?”

Shuri is already standing there with a wolfs grin, the same she usually sports when she knows something no one else does and she gestures for you all to follow her to the lab.


	2. Damsels In Distress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capture is never a good time, neither is torture. Good thing their Knight in shining armor shows up, making a few heads roll in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so short! I'm sorry. I made it 3 parts for Tumblr and now it just looks dismal on this haha. 
> 
> This also includes more graphic violence than the last, but mainly just blood.

It’s pain that he feels first, something akin to what he has felt in a time long past, almost a lifetime ago when he was made into something far greater, far more devastating than the man he had been born as. White hot, electric tingling through his veins, making his skin prickle and head ache. And there’s a wave, something that’s crashing around him, threatening to drag him down to the depths and keep him there. So, he fights through the tendrils grasping at him like a monster in the depths – trying to grab at his mind, his heart, his soul – he pushes forward, the effort causing his body to burn like he’s on fire until he breaks through the surface. 

Until he can open his eyes.

Blinking slowly and deliberately he lets his eyes adjust to the harsh and equally shitty fluorescent light. It stings and makes his head throb harder, but within a minute he can focus on his surroundings and wow, what a shithole this place is.

There’s no way to tell how much time has passed. It could be a few minutes, a few hours or a few days. But his skin feels colder than normal, and he can see his flesh, the tactical suit somehow gone, left in his underclothes. Across from him is Steve, restrained and straight backed against the chair but eyes closed, heavy bruising around his face and across his pale skin. There’s a series of IVs attached to him, one pumping in a sickly yellow substance, one most likely for hydration and the other, a tube stained with blood already but not currently doing anything. It’s enough to make Bucky try and surge forward, he’s broken restraints easily before, it shouldn’t be a problem now.

Except that it is. Pain surges through his arms and legs as he tries to move but nothing is happening, and then it’s in his neck and head as he tries to move it to see what the hell is happening to them. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his fingers and he tries to wiggle them, his hands are on fire as he does so, but nothing happens. Nothing moves. He can’t fucking move.

Panic is already spreading through him like wildfire, his breathing on the verge of hyperventilation, and the pain within him is threatening to tear him apart. He would yell, but even that is impossible. He needs to get out of here. He needs to breathe. He needs to…

Fuck!

One. Two. Three. Four. Deep breaths. 

The word paralysed pops into his brain before he can stop it, like a weed peeking through the cracked pavement – unavoidable – making his chest tight again and the breaths come quicker. He needs to calm the fuck down.

One. Two. Three. Four. Rinse, repeat. One. Two. Three. Four.

Calm down, he tries to tell himself. It doesn’t work.

Barnes. James Buchanan. Sargent. 32557038.

No. That’s… not right.

Barnes, Bucky. Avenger, sort of. Winter Soldier, sort of. Not Sargent. Not Azzano. Not 32557038.

Breathe Bucky. He tells himself. Four breaths and then another and then another before the panic starts to subside and he can finally focus. And with all the effort he can muster he runs through the facts.

Zombies are real. Time to come to terms with that. They captured him and Steve and instead of killing them, they are attached to something that is keeping them paralysed. He was able to send out the emergency signal but there’s no telling how much time has passed or if they have been moved. So far, not an ideal situation.

Bucky’s eyes move steady over the room, wholly unremarkable, it’s just them strapped down and some IVs, one table and nothing else. His eyes then fall on Steve whose breath has gotten quicker, meaning he’s fighting to come to consciousness and Bucky must remind himself – Steve has never been captured, never been experimented on against his will, and according to Bucky’s knowledge, has never been tortured. This is not gonna be pretty.

Within his own head he hears a strangled yell as he tries his best to move, pushing through the pain to get out, to comfort Steve, who is going to flip his shit when he fully wakes. Nothing happens and he just wants to hit something. Actually, he thinks, thank God they can’t move; Steve would destroy the whole room, the whole place, and that’s the kind of hurricane that you just watch from a safe distance.

Steve eyes open suddenly and dart back and forth, unfocused and crazed. Bucky can see how freaked out Steve is, his pupils are almost fully dilated, taking away the blue and this is bad. 

He knows he has an expressive face; Steve had said it constantly growing up and the Russians and then HYDRA had commented on it, which had been one of the many reasons for the mask. They knew no one would be afraid of an assassin that makes silly faces during a fight. He had always been annoyed about it, trying his best to not make any expression, but right now he’s so fucking happy about it. As you had told him many times, his eyes are expressive as fuck, so he tries his best to channel all good feelings into a soft and kind look he trains on Steve while he waits for Steve to focus on him.

He does and then it takes all of three minutes and fifty-two seconds for Steve’s breathing to return to baseline and then for Steve to start working through the facts the same way at he had earlier. Bucky gives him his proudest eyes, which earns him the fuck off look he has been on the receiving end his whole life. Hallelujah.

***************

It’s been five hours and thirteen minutes when time starts to dilate. It’s been seven minutes, it’s been five hours, it’s been three days. It’s been boring, and that makes it hard to focus on how much time is passing. Not that he’s complaining, torture is no joke, but in the past, he has been able to keep time by using the torture, tests and panic attacks as markers. Not the best strategy but it works.

This, however, has been uneventful. Except for waking, which was a painful ordeal he hopes never to experience ever again. After that, not much. It’s only when the time starts to slip that the scientists, by the looks of them, dart in and out of the rooms steadily, taking some samples, poking at them and making notes on their tablets before scurrying away without a word. They are immune to the Winter Soldier’s icy glare and the Captain America is Not Impressed with You gaze. At least it’s a change from the monologuing assholes.

They’ve been alone for he thinks forty-seven minutes and he’s starting to feel restless. Steve probably is too, probably was five minutes in. They’ve been gone for too long; he can’t really tell how long but it’s too long in his books. If they hadn’t been taken out then they would have reported back to the team within the hour, so even if he hadn’t sent out the transmission the team would have known something was wrong.

That makes him wince, try to at least, remembering the cowboyed job he had done to include you in the list of people alerted by the alarm. He meant to only do it to give you piece of mind, especially when he was injured, instead he’s involved you immediately in a shit situation he had been trying to avoid. Good job. He knew, too, that you were growing restless, that you were trying to live a peaceful life but not succeeding. There are people that will always be soldiers, made to, and you were one of those. He didn’t want to push though, he wanted you to make that decision on your own, and now he’s made it for you. Fuck.

Crack. Splash. Thump. 

The sounds break Bucky from his thoughts, his eyes finding Steve who is not happy about not being able to see what’s happening. Over his shoulder he sees the blood splattered on the wall and floor, eyes widening and a head rolling past much like a tumbleweed in those western films Clint was so insistent on making them watch.

He has barely enough time to process the headless assailant when a figure appears in a doorway holding a double-ended glaive? What? He doesn’t claim to be an expert in polearms, but he is an expert with knives and that is not a fucking knife. Glaive it is. 

The figure is wearing a cowl, and has it pulled up over their mouth and nose but there’s an air of familiarity to them and when his eyes land on theirs he already knows who it is. And he has SO many questions. Like why the fuck are you holding a glaive, why are you here, why do you have a suit, why is it blue. 

You bring your wrist to your mouth and murmur into it. “Found them. I need five minutes.” Then you step into the room.

Blood is splattered all over the glaive and some has landed on your chest that is clad in a shade of blue that makes Bucky want to weep. He glances at Steve who is trying and failing spectacularly to remain calm, which you seem to pick up on, so you remove the cowl.

There are many strange things that have happened in his life, as Bucky has recounted earlier, but to see you dressed in blue, with a fucking glaive that you hold in a way that suggests you really know how to use it, blood splattered but all around unhurt, hovering over them, really takes the cake.

The questions rise again. He knows you are more than capable; he’s seen you train, but he’s never seen the glaive, or the suit and he’s sure the team were shocked when you arrived because of the alarm. Why are you here? Why didn’t they make you stay back? Where is everyone else? Why is there a fucking glaive in your hand? The decapitated head must have been your doing. Why the fuck are you wearing a suit that is fitted and blue?

Bucky can see your hands shake as you approach, it’s hard not to because he’s sure he would be a wreck if the roles were reversed. But you’re doing a fantastic job trying to hide it and you give him a watery smile when you step between them.

“I didn’t peg you for a damsel in distress Rogers.” You smirk, then point at Bucky. “Him however, perfectly cast.”

Steve’s already laughing, Bucky can tell, he tries his best to scowl but it probably just looks like relief because despite you joking, you’re here and that means saving. Though there is anger laced in your voice.

You’re at Steve first, hands running over the bruises in a professional manner that still manages to make Bucky see a little bit of red. You’re checking for any serious injuries and you finish quickly, hands on the metal restraints yanking them until they whine and then snap, and then your pulling at the IVs. “I’m sorry” you say as you pull the one with the yellow liquid. His eyes look like they are watery, and Bucky can tell it hurt. 

Then you turn to Bucky and you’ve had your back turned to him so he couldn’t see but now he can, there is anger in your eyes. It’s threatening to spill out and bleed into everything it touches but you’ve maintaining composure, for now at least. And there’s something there, dark and beneath the eyes he looks at before he goes to sleep, that suggests one wrong move and you may snap them like twigs. Its… a good look on you.

So are the nine knives you have, and the three guns, and the glaive. And the suit that is fucking blue.

Your hand rests on his face and he wishes he could lean into it. This isn’t the time or place for getting weepy, you both know that, but just one small moment of relief and the silent thank mother-fucking Christ he’s alright is all you need, and you give him a smile. 

“Hey.” You speak softly and make sure he’s looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He knows what’s about to happen - he saw the way Steve reacted, but it doesn’t help – the moment your hand pulls out the IV the pain is tenfold and the fire burns through him. He wants to yell, scream, kick, anything, but he’s trapped in the prison and all he can feel is the pain and your hand on his face. He focuses on that. 

It ends seconds later but it feels like much longer. Then there is nothing, a light tingle and the reprieve is something they should bottle and sell, it’s like fucking magic. You sit back on your heels and smile, your hands having left him and now firmly grasped around the glaive.

“So…” You start. “You’ll be able to move in a little bit. But… it’s gonna… take a few hours… to return to normal. Maybe even a day or so.” You scratch the back of your head. “You’re basically human  
so please don’t die in this rescue attempt?”

It’s said more like a question, as if you’re nervous, as if you are scared that they’re be angry.

Somehow, they both manage to nod. Bucky’s eyes bug out, as well as Steve’s at the movement and then Bucky’s tongue can finally move which makes him want to shout to the heavens and really, thank God. Now he can wiggle his toes, who knew he would get so excited about that.

He wants to tell you he loves you, or ask why you are here, why you aren’t at home, or where is everyone. That’s not what comes out of his mouth though. It’s something else entirely.

“Halle-fucking-lujah!” He breathes out, making you sigh in relief and Steve smile.

There are questions that need to be answered, ones Bucky intends on asking and he’s about to do so as he stands up slowly - your hand reaching out to him in order to steady him - but Nat waltzes though the door at that moment, not a hair out of place, and steps over the blood splattered floor.

She moves quickly and steadies Steve, whispering out thank God and then lends her hands to Bucky and he smiles at her in thanks. She’s really here. You both are. 

Bucky stumbles into Steve, his hands land on Steve’s shoulders and he pulls him into a hug. Neither you nor Nat try to stop it. A few moments pass before Bucky steps back, tears are on his face. Your hand squeezes his.

Over her shoulder is Steve’s shield and Bucky’s rifle, he smiles seeing that, as well as his favourite knives strapped to her thighs that she knew he would have raged a world war over losing. Bucky wants to be relieved, he really does, but he remembers that the rifle didn’t do a hell of a lot and the knives weren’t long enough to decapitate. 

Nat drops the bag she was also carrying at their feet, crouches and starts emptying, handing Bucky and Steve their tactical gear that she had found, and then a handful of the energy bars Shuri had created. No one says anything as you snatch one and start to eat it. Then she pulls out three katanas and hands one to them both. 

Steve looks at it like a grapefruit that’s just become sentient and Bucky takes his like it’s a grenade about to go off.

“I’ve never used one.” Steve breaks the ice.

You look taken aback. “Seriously?” You ask between chews.

He nods solemnly.

“You’ll figure it out. Go for the head.” She points at the clothes. “Chop chop, we have to go!”

They don’t need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi at Robotskilledmygrandma.tumblr.com


	3. Rescue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The great escape, plus a few grenades, a hurricane called Steve and Bucky is freaking out about blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So short. So so short. Have fun?

Nat explains that the explosives are set and that they need to get out of there. She also explains that the scientists have already been taken care of, and their guards, it’s only the soldiers that are left. It doesn’t take long to get underway and you all reach a fork in the hallway. Nat quickly signs a word you all recognise, hostiles, and you all flatter against the walls.

Your hand comes up to your mouth. “Sam, Clint, any chance you can light the fuckers up?”

They had been given comms and the sound of Clint’s voice brings another smile to Bucky’s face, hooray for another disaster assassin. “I’m about to rain fire!” Clint declares.

Sam is huffing and mumbling something like why the fuck did I get stuck out here?

A series of explosions rock through the place, masking the footsteps of the five zombie super-soldier things, that appear in the crossroads, obviously on their way to check on their prized super-soldier prisoners. It’s a surprise for everyone. Bucky goes to pull out his katana, stepping forward, ready to deliver the blow, and Steve has his shield raised, ready to throw.

Turns out they don’t have to. Nat has already vaulted herself into the middle and has turned one into a shish kebab before she slices it’s head off and then the other. And your glaive is up, moving swiftly through the air, slicing at their heads and making one roll, and then the next and then the next, their bodies dropping unceremoniously to the ground with loud thuds. 

Bucky is about to protest, or yell in triumph or hell, congratulate you on your job well done as master executioner when your hand shoots out over his mouth and silences him. He always lets his mouth run.

“I swear to God Bucky, don’t say a fucking thing.” 

You’re talking so low you doubt even Nat can pick it up. Bucky really, really, has the urge to lick your palm.

“Don’t engage if you don’t have to. You need to get to safety, do you copy?” You’re head swivels to Steve who still has his shield up ready to throw, he lowers it though and nods slightly. It does not bring you comfort, getting Steve to stand down has been the Avengers biggest failure, especially when Bucky is involved. 

You retract your hand but leave a finger on Bucky’s lips, indicating him to say silent. Any other day he would have messed around and tried to bite it. Today though? He’d probably earn a punch in the face.

Nat knocks the wall for attention and then signs We have to get moving, pointing at the way the zombie soldiers came from and you all start off that way. Everyone, except Bucky, who is now crouched over the headless bodies and pilfering their knives, ammo and to his delight, two smoke grenades and three normal grenades. Christmas has come early.

There’s a throat cleared in front of him and you’re standing there glaring at him, but your hand is out.

“Seriously?” You raise your eyebrows.

Bucky holds up his loot like a cat with a canary and smiles.

You really want to say something, but instead you wait until he places a smoke grenade in it as a peace offering and you pull him to his feet. Both of you follow Nat and Steve, who have not waited, but your hands don’t part.

Finally, you reach the main hall where you split to take cover, Nat and Steve going to the right and you and Bucky to the left. Each side offers a large pillar to take cover behind. You all peek at the scene in front of you and it makes the colour almost drain from your face.

There’s about fifty of the zombie soldiers – heavily armed and ready to fight – patrolling and generally looking ready to tear the place apart to find you. A silent stream of curses on your lips as you yank Bucky back to cover, Nat does the same with Steve and you see her look over you with a worried expression.

Distraction? She sighs out.

Bucky is suddenly pulled close to you and he can’t help but grin. His breath is hot on your neck and even though there’s an impending sense of doom, his hand rests on our waist, yours on his shoulder, and if anyone were to look right now, it would not look like you were talking. You don’t want to talk, or fight. There’s something else on your mind. You have to focus.

“Buck.” Your voice is barely a whisper. He hears it plain as day. “Want to use those grenades?”

He’s trying his hardest not to groan, not with you, and the zombies, so close. All he wants to do is kiss you senseless, but he needs to shove that thought down to a more appropriate time and god,  
the way you’re looking at him, you’ve never been more beautiful. His forehead rests on yours and he takes in a deep breath. He’s smirking though because your cheeks are flushing red and he can hear your breath pick up.

Reluctantly he lets you go and pulls out the smoke grenade in one hand, and another grenade in the other. Your hand leaves him, taking out the smoke grenade that he gave you and you quirk your brows, slightly nodding your head in the direction of the horde.

It seems that he’s on the same page because there’s a twinkle to his eyes and the smirk turns impish.

“Be ready.” You speak softly into the comms. 

Nat and Steve squint at you both, there’s judgement on their part at your embrace but you both raise your hands in unison to show off the grenades and they shake their heads. They did say you two were in sync, you reckon it’s time to test that theory.

You both step back, slipping from the safety of the column and without a countdown pull the pins at the same time. His smile is not unlike a child on Christmas day and that’s all you need. The smoke grenades are lobbed first, landing in the middle of the zombies, filling the room, and then Bucky throws another grenade. This one does not smoke.

All hell breaks loose.

“Everything all good?” Sam’s voice is laced with worry.

You’ve already ducked through the room, the smoke masking your movements, and you bring the glaive down hard onto the neck of a zombie. The blood splatters everywhere. “Yeah. You know  
Bucky. How about you?”

There’s a yell not unlike Tarzan over the comms and you’re greeted by Clint. “Where do they keep coming from?”

Through the haze you can see Bucky, perched on top of machinery you have never seen in your life, rifle up and smiling brightly as he starts to provide cover fire in the form of taking out kneecaps with deadly accuracy. The zombies crumble to the ground. It’s only a slight reprieve, their bones shifting loudly and sickly as they writhe in pain before they’re popping back up, but it’s long enough to get the drop on them and remove some heads.

Gun are knocked out of the way with loud clatters and knives clink every time they hit armour or the metal of Steve shield. Each clatter, clink, slash, splash, gurgle and thump make up a sickening soundtrack to the fight, one that you know too well, one that you wish you didn’t miss. The act of killing them is, in a way, cathartic.

Nat is to your left somewhere, her blonde hair and slight frame bobbing in and out of the smoke that is slowly turning the room into a memory straight out of your clubbing days, hazy, thick with sweat and filled with blood, piss and shit. Well, okay, not exactly like clubbing, but not at all that different.

She’s slashing with the katana in a way that suggest this isn’t her first rodeo and you need to remember the sheer glee Clint had showed when Shuri have revealed them - surely, they had sparred before. And she generally uses batons, so there isn’t much she needs to alter in her style, which is hypnotic to say the least, flipping and gracefully taking down each foe like it’s a ballet.  
Steve – who doesn’t know when to back down from a fight – hasn’t used his katana. Instead he is favouring the shield like always, using it to decapitate the lucky zombies, and to beat the skulls of the unlucky ones into pulp. 

There’s a vibe in the room between the four of you, each with varying amounts of blood splatter painting you, Bucky with the least, but you can feel it. You were all made for this.  
Bucky is watching you from his perch, attempting to provide cover fire that wasn’t working well to begin with and is now not really working at all. Nat is graceful and Steve is a hurricane, but you are nothing short of a vision, gruesome, brutal and splattered with blood that reminds him of a Jackson Pollock painting. You’re glowing and thriving, and he can just tell, you were made for this.

The rifle is over his shoulder and his hand ghosts over the katana, but he doesn’t pick it up, after all, he’s a sharpshooter or a brawler, nothing in between, and he jumps into the fray. His metal fist flies into the head of one of the zombies, causing it to concave horribly, and then he’s kicking another into the path of your glaive. Blood splatters. You smile. He smiles. Another head is rolling.

Punch, kick, rip, destroy, push into the path of you or Nat, or even Steve whose hands are more blood than anything. A pattern that repeats for some time, interrupted only by the addition of Sam and  
Clint who somehow found their way into the room. It smells horrible, taking Bucky back to the war and his nose burns, but everything is clear to him and all he can see is your brutality and the way the blue looks on you, and yep, he’s in love with you.

After what feels like eternity - even he’s panting and that’s a hard thing to accomplish - the horde thins, and it becomes more bodies and blood and each passing moment means less and less. His eyes stay with you and he watches as a zombie buries a blade into your chest.

He’s there before he knows it. Did he develop the ability to teleport in the last few seconds? Who knows? His hands are already on the offending zombie, the bones cracking beneath each punch until he’s sure the body is more mush than anything else. And then he wraps his metal hand around its neck and the other around the body, pulling, yelling, until it pops off like nothing he has ever seen before.

He tosses the mangled body and head to the side and he starts towards you, his hand coming up to brace you and he’s so scared. Sure, you’ve suffered worse, hell you were torn in half when the team first found you, but witnessing it is much, much harder than sitting by your side as you heal. He’s staggering, especially when your hands pull out the knife, sword? You drop it to the ground, turning on your heel and using the glaive you surprisingly did not drop, to decapitate an advancing zombie.

You turn and your eyes fall on his. “Wow.” Is all you say.

He sways and his voice is small. “Baby…”

Your hands are on his arms, the metal from the glaive against him and you’re looking at him with concern while the blood pours out of your chest like a sick waterfall. He wants to be sick.

“I’m good.” You say with a smile. Bucky can’t do anything but gesture to your chest. “I’m not gonna drop dead.” 

He’s got to look around, he can’t keep staring at the blood and your concerned eyes. He watches as Clint slices through the remaining zombie soldiers with a crazed glint in his eyes, Sam kicking them to Nat who is behaving like a methodical executioner. One down. Next please. 

Only Steve is watching with wonder and horror at what is happening in front of him. They look like shit. It’s not long before the zombies stop coming, prompting Clint to collapse onto the only clean patch of ground and stare up into the ceiling like it holds all the secrets of the universe. Sam is nudging at Clint’s legs and trying his best to pick off all the gore that has found its way onto his suit. 

Nat is crouched next to Steve and checking him over for injuries like a mother hen and he’s waving her off begrudgingly. No one is paying attention to you being stabbed, well Steve is, but he’s not making any movements. Bucky hears Nat assure Steve that you’re fine. Fine his ass. 

The glaive clatters to the ground for the first time, one hand finding his and the other resting on his face. He leans into it. He knows he has to look, he doesn’t want to, but he has to. His eyes flit to your chest to see the blood clotted, but already stained your pretty blue outfit red. It brings tears to his eyes.

“Buck… are you okay?” you ask.

He leans his forehead against yours and takes a deep breath. “It’s blue.” He’s breathless as he says it, so quiet, so gentle, so loving, and he wants to swallow the confession down, but he can’t.

You’re looking up at him and he wants to look away because it’s like looking at the sun, too bright, too warm, too much. And he’s like Icarus, flying to close and ready to be burned, but he doesn’t care. Really, he doesn’t.

“Of course it is Bucky.” You say back, equally quiet. There are tears in your eyes. “I love you.”

There are the words, the ones he had been struggling with, the ones that had found a home in his throat until you showed up to recue him, decapitating zombies and wearing the same blue that he is. 

You say it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And really, it is.

“I love you too.”

***************

Nat blows up the place when the jet is at a safe distance. You don’t see it. All you can see is Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Seriously come say hi at robotskilledmygrandma.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at robotskilledmygrandma.tumblr.com


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